


I Need(ed) You in This Life

by catoandtonto



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Romance, Comet - Freeform, Deviates From Canon, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fate, Fluff, Gen, Near Death Experiences, beginning of the end, faye is awake from cryo, no bebop yet, past to future, something like fate, three years before series, three years prior from anime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catoandtonto/pseuds/catoandtonto
Summary: Spike and Faye meet. But according to fate, it's three years too soon.
Relationships: Julia/Spike Spiegel/Vicious, Spike Spiegel & Faye Valentine, Spike Spiegel/Faye Valentine
Comments: 29
Kudos: 39





	1. the beginning of the end really

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I present to you my first piece of work in this fandom. 
> 
> I was inspired by the soundtrack/score from the 2014 movie "Comet".
> 
> the [soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8OMPbb8G5k) is beautiful and definitely has a Spike and Faye theme going on.
> 
>  **Reviews** and **kudos** are much appreciated. Thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike is always for the unexpected. Especially when working in an infamous syndicate. But sometimes the unexpected can really be the unexpected...namely, a purple haired woman.

  
  


_“Spike, please! You’ve gotta wake up... I know you’re just sleeping. Because you believed this was all a dream. Even though for me, ha. It was all fucking real.”_

**☙ Prologue ☙**

**2068.**

Spike Spiegel eyed the man unassumingly.

Call it awkward eye contact, or just something all strangers do. Regardless, he himself had his hands in the pockets of his duster coat, whistling an old tune he heard on his late grandpa’s radio once.

This job should be easy, because who in the hell would ever suspect this was a place to deal such a particular thing?

The building Spike stood in, was an old cathedral. It wasn’t the least bit familiar, just rather haunting to say the least.

Nothing in his surroundings indicated anything suspicious, but you could never be too sure with these type of guys who couldn’t even dress in a suit. They are dealing with _syndicate_ people, not small time hustlers who sell penny-and-dime bags of this stuff.

Spike casually walked over to the man, and sized him up quickly. This should be over and done with in no time. Mr. No-Suit just needed to hand over a slip of paper, and the deal was a go.

“Red Dragon, eh?” The guy murmured. “I thought you guys stopped with this stuff?”

Spike shrugged wordlessly. He saw the guy reach into his pocket, and out of instinct and good common sense, Spike (who still had his right hand in his pocket), fingered his Jericho.

After a beat, the man took his hand out of his pocket, and he opened up his hand to reveal a white slip of paper.

Spike took his time taking the slip of paper from the man’s hand.

Reading over it, Spike smiled at the man, before crumbling up the pieces of paper, using two of his fingers. And then ultimately cramming it into his own mouth, and swallowing.

☙

Spike eyed the two small bags of candy, before ultimately deciding to swipe both items with ease, and stealth. He eyed the woman with the greying hair, who reminded him of a certain maternal figure he hadn’t seen in a week. She was wordlessly looking at something on the small tv screen, that sat on the desk. So, he’d go ahead and take another bag of chips.

As Spike was getting ready to head out the store, his stance final. He sensed them coming in before shouting such predictable words:

“Hands the motherfuck up! Or I’ll shoot!”

Spike didn’t even turn around, he still picked through the items on both sides of his aisle. Putting on the air as though replacing these bag of chips with pocky sticks was the most important matter at the moment.

“Hey, motherfucker! Against the motherfucking wall, with your hands up!”

 _Amateurs_ , Spike thought before doing as told. Let’s see how entertaining they could be before he got bored, and disarmed them.

The woman behind the counter, on the other hand, was in hysterics. You would think in a place such as this, or on this side of the block, she would be unfazed. Especially if it was just money these thugs wanted. But the leader had gotten distracted with the gun, he wasn’t telling his cronies or associates to make a grab for the money.

In the end, Spike’s stomach was growling, he had a beautiful girl to see, and the woman clerk had already been shot dead. Terrific.

The leader of the pack had multiple of piercings on his face, and his hair was shaved on all sides except the top. And his eye looked like it’d been nearly stabbed off. Eyelid clearly scratched, the iris and the white a luminous red.

His posture was okay for an amateur gun man, but Spike had a feeling the shot he put in the store clerk was simply due to dumb luck.

“What the fuck are you smirking at man?” The delinquent shouted. “You should be begging on your knees for your life!”

Spike tilted his head to the right to see if at least one of his cronies was grabbing the cash.

Apparently, somebody didn’t like lack of eye contact, or at least some sense of not having been intimidated. Because Spike had a bullet in the guy’s head in less than five seconds, and soon after, the guy’s associates were on the ground too.

“No mess,” Spike mumbled smiling to himself. If you discount the pools of blood here and there, and that one wall with all it’s hot red abstract. Not much of a mess left for the cops.

Spike stopped walking, and looked at the woman clerk. She wasn’t breathing, and they got her right in the stomach. So, where was that sound coming—

_Click._

A young woman pointed a gun at him, and for a second everything slowed. He didn’t put his hands immediately to his pocket, nor did he make a move based on reflex. What he saw was something clandestinely moving (or coming to life in his mind). But then his eyes were doing tricks on him again, fuck, his eyes were doing tricks...

Because it was a 5:5 ratio image, split down the middle. There was a girl on the left, and the girl on the right. Both girls had guns pointed at him. And the girls looked exactly the same except, they were in different settings...different clothing.

They were both shaking and crying.

Shaking...and crying.

But as soon as he blinked one of the images was gone, and he only saw a girl, or a young woman, pointing a gun at him. She broke eye contact with him almost immediately though, before altogether letting her body crumble to the ground. Her shoulders shook, and tears flowed from her eyes, and Spike almost could hear her scream out the words, “Mommy! Daddy!”

Her gun skidded a little away from her on the ground.

The young woman didn’t make a move for it. She continued to cry, with her arms limp in front of her, and maybe she’d forgotten where she even was.

Spike Spiegel frowned, and didn’t make a move. Deja Vu was benignly prevalent in his being ever since he could remember. Rather small instances and episodes here and there.

But right now, the sense of it was stronger than ever, reaching out to him.

He didn’t shoot her, even though she wore apparel similar to that of the amateur thugs who were now lying lifeless on the floor.

She continued to cry.


	2. let her in and hide her away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike leaves the woman in his apartment. And while on the job, he and his friend have an insightful conversation.

**☙ one ☙**

Spike looked up at the ceiling, thinking very briefly back to the anomaly that was probably now awake in his apartment.

What if he were to never see such being again? Was it even possible to not see them ever again? Would an episode come out of nowhere again? Like, the screen of an eye test? Blurry, yet vivid at each and every slide and turn? ...Like back at the convenient store?

Spike turned his head a little to the side, almost in an awkward angle, to see the lovely woman who laid by his side. Her tresses of blonde hair were spread out on the pillow they shared, tickling his naked chest a bit.

☙

“Spiegel!”

He turned around, and saw a man about his age with slicked back dark hair, and alabaster skin. His face wasn’t serious, but not a cherry-on-top grin either.

“Hey, why weren’t you at Mao’s meeting today?” Shin asked him, “You didn’t hear about the White Tigers?”

“I was taking care of some business.” Spike spoke this with barely a murmur. “That guy with the red eye didn’t seem to come from the usual bunch.”

Shin raised an eyebrow. But Spike knew he believed him. It was rather believable, because he knew he would be having another run-in with the no-suit man in no time.

“Okay. Well, I’m sure Vicious will fill you in on the rest,” Shin said in his usual average tone, no hint of indifference. “Gotta make a run for Mao.”

Spike shrugged and continued walking in the direction he’d intended, opposite of Shin.

He sighed when an image of his apartment came into his mind again. He hadn’t been by there since last night, when he’d placed her on his living room couch and left. She might’ve even ran away already. Already aware of what kind of guy he was, and the business he dealt with. Hell, perhaps she just didn’t like staying in one place for too long. And that was understandable. Maybe he saw himself in her...

Besides, he already had someone. So, why was it a matter on whether or not she’d already left his apartment? Based on how she held that gun and broke down, she’d be dead on a planet like this in about a year. Even if she might’ve always lived here.

But the thing was, she did appear out of this world. She wasn’t an extra terrestrial, nor did she look like one.

But...it was something—

Spike lit a cigarette, and put it to his mouth. He needed to focus on work, and this thing with the White Tigers, nor the “No Suits” wasn’t something to take with apathy.

☙

“Why are you fascinated with those things?” Spike asked his friend, as they walked the avenue the cathedral stood on. “You said something about being connected to them.”

The young man who walked beside him, held a ghostly grin. Per usual, he didn’t say anything for a couple of beats. His hair getting even lighter due to the sun, or the supply of “space smack” they were about to get a hit on.

“My family would train them,” he said in his usual sneer tone. “Taught to believe that those were the only things we were connected to.”

Spike eyed his friend from his peripheral.

“Falcons know exactly who they are, where they stand, and do everything on genuine instinct.”

Spike laughed. “Do you believe that? Or did your family teach you that?”

They came to a stop at the cathedral doors, and looked at each other. Spike waited for an answer.

The person giving it, took their time.

“What I'm talking about isn’t **taught** , but **seen**.”

☙ 

_Be_ like water...

...Be like _water_...

Everything in here was supposed to be elusive. The feeling was the only elusive thing to be taken into account. But as Spike was back to back with his partner, shooting at the no-suit men, with their obvious lack of defense...

Spike forgot about such sentiment. What went over his mind continuously was the reasoning behind his actions, and the automatic response for each: _Pull trigger. Pull trigger. Strike. Pull trigger. Shift foot forward. Turn. Pull trigger. Jump. Turn. Strike._

There wasn’t much noise, it was more of a symphony. The ceilings brought wonderful acoustics, as he and his friend made their music and danced their ballet.

Unlike yesterday, at the convenient store, there was more of a mess. These sons of bitches weren’t much for subtlety it seemed anyway, telling from the feeling Spike got from the man yesterday.

Vicious beckoned Spike over to where he now stood. “They were planning on stripping us clean.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. Vicious chuckled. “The Red Dragons are apparently one of the ‘softer’ groups.”

Spike couldn’t help but laugh at the misconception. These guys strewn all over the floor were nimrods, and looked it to. They couldn’t come up with decent suits to wear? So much for trying to appear normal...

Glancing all over the cathedral, he wondered out loud,

“What time does the clock sound?”

Vicious looked at the watch on his wrist. “In a minute.”

Then just like that, Spike heard the melody.

_☙_

He descended down once his body broke through the rose window. He was flying. Actually flying, with his arms spread out. He didn’t grasp onto anything. He escaped from the gargoyles who were laughing at him. Those demon figures knew he was going to get it this time.

“You sing off key.”

Spike heard the familiar sound of his voice, and raised a brow worriedly. What the hell was happening?

He was still falling, but the melody grew louder as he descended. But he never touched the ground it seemed.

But he still heard the humming, and the shuffling of poker cards that were lovely to hear in this comforting kind of way.

_“C’mere...”_

Spike stared down at the floor, smoking a cigarillo he snagged from a homeless guy on Earth. It wasn’t an eventful encounter; if all, the old man had thrown those “cancer churros” at him, and told him to go fuck himself.

_☙_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double-post.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Also, I was feeling more inspired because of the comet [soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twN1VRN7w_c), that I do not own (rights and all), and that I did not create.


	3. life on mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye wakes up in a stranger's apartment, and tries to make herself at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me again. Here is a triple post.
> 
> Also, Spike and Faye will be crossing paths again...it's just taking awhile. And besides, Spike has Julia...
> 
> So, why the rush? 
> 
> But, this is coming from the point of view of someone who ships Spike and Faye like Dido's "White Flag". So, if "rushing things" didn't have that big fat chance of messing things up, they would be rushing to meet up and kiss and become boyfriend and girlfriend like there's no tomorrow. But there will be hesitancy, and this takes place in Spike's past. And there's always an appeal to slow burn.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for coming across this story.

**☙two☙**

Faye Valentine wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere. So, she walked around in the shabby apartment she found herself in, and sought out some sort of air freshener because the odor in here was ridiculous. She emptied out the full ashtray that sat on the end table, and looked around in the cabinets and drawers for a spoon and plate.

She was lucky with the spoon, but the best she could come up for the plate was a scratched and faded bowl; clearly settling for less.

“At least he keeps his leftovers,” She mumbled to herself, noticing a container of some sort of meaty concoction, serving as take out, in the fridge.

There was a slight twang to the meat when first bit into, but with time she’d finished the meal. Her breath on fire, she walked into the bathroom, switched on the light, and this time sought out a tube of toothpaste.

Running her pointer finger across her top front teeth over and over again, she looked at her reflection. Her eyes still seemed a little swollen from crying, and she could brush out her hair. But where was the beanie she wore, what did he—

Faye stopped moving her finger, and her frown deepened.

What the hell was she doing? She pointed a gun at that guy yesterday, and regardless of whatever delirium she may have been in...she knew this was his crash pad.

So, the question is, why the hell didn’t he blow a cap through her like her associates? _Those bastards,_ She thought bitterly. _They didn’t like me anyway. Feelings...were mutual_.

She shuddered at the thought of when Travis tried “seducing” her, but it was more like him advancing on her using his man parts. He forced himself on top of her, and she nearly took his eyeball out. They were even. And she made herself clear.

But still, why didn’t that guy act in defense, when she clearly had her gun pointed at him? The way he moved when killing Travis, Ian, and Mac...she thought he would’ve done the same to her. Regardless of the fact that she was a blubbering mess with a Glock.

Faye shook her head slowly, and finished up with brushing her teeth.

☙

The apartment was bare, so she couldn’t find out much on this guy who so happened to spare her life. But obviously he wasn’t home much. But when he was, he sure would smoke up a storm, and eat.

She held her nose with her fingers when she smelled the foul odor coming from the almost empty bowl of cereal sitting on the nightstand, next to his bed. She reached to pick it up, but thought better of it. She wasn’t a maid, and she most definitely wasn’t going to be _living_ here.

Faye started laughing at the thought. _Straight outta cryogenic sleep, into housewife-hood?_ She could cook a little, but she didn’t know if she was some master chef before waking up, in the hospital, lying on that hospital bed, drying out like a drowning fish out of water. What if this was some weird situation that came out of those thriller movies she had a faint familiarity of seeing, when she was little? Younger? In high school?

She cleared that thought, and rubbed away the tear that formed on her eye. Enough about that. There were much more serious matters. And one of those matters could or couldn’t be involving her debt.

Faye walked out of the bedroom, and sat on the couch. She flipped on the channel, curious on what was shown on television nowadays in the late 21st century.

After much flipping, she settled on a movie that was playing. It was a romance movie she guessed, telling from the atmosphere and tone of it. Besides, the obvious leads were two young adults—a man and a woman—who were chatting about something lame...or serious.

Love.

A certain blonde head came into mind. _Fucker._

Faye switched the channel, and came across a show titled “Big Shot.”

An older looking black man in cowboy attire appeared on screen. He bounced his body around jovially as he continuously said the show’s title. Then after a bit of his jig, a young blonde woman who didn’t look much younger than Faye herself, appeared on the screen in cowgirl-ish attire, her hands clasped together at her chin, saying over and over again, “Hello, it’s **Big Shot!** ”

If Faye had thought it sooner, she would’ve flipped to the next channel. But she hesitated when she heard the dichotomous duo mention the words “bounty”. Damn. Damn. Damn. What if she saw her face on the screen? What if her debt– d- debt was finally coming to a standstill with those ISSP idiots?

But instead of her face flashing onto the screen, it was a picture of some cartoon face that resembled a pac man, was it? What was Pac-Man?

Fuck. She was grasping at damn straws again. So she threw them down by turning off the tv with the remote. She paced back and fourth across the dingy carpet floor she stood on.

Blowing her bangs out of her face every thirty seconds, she looked back at the television screen that was all black nothingness; or this complete enemy. She didn’t know which yet.

She abruptly took out the Glock from her cargo shorts that hung loosely around her hips, and put the gun to her head.

☙

Faye sat up abruptly on the couch, and touched her forehead subconsciously. _Damn it_ , she fell asleep while watching that poor excuse of a show.

Rubbing at her eye, she noted her surroundings once more. The guy still wasn’t here. What did he do all damn day?

Did he expect her to stay here?

Did he want her to stay here until he got home?

But she was Faye _fucking_ Valentine. She didn’t wait on anybody. She did things on her own accord.

Oh shit. But if she went outside, walking the streets, who knows if Travis still had cronies out there who wanted to kill her? But she had her glock, and she could throw a mean punch. And maybe, before she lost her damn memory, she was this cool ass mixed martial artist.

The twenty-year old’s shoulders slumped at that thought.

Who the hell was she kidding? She couldn’t do jack shit, much less with her lousy ass firearm.

She got up from the couch, and walked to the bedroom. Upon entering the bedroom, she immediately started going through the dresser’s drawers. After a while she found a shirt and a pair of boxers that would do good as PJs.

☙


	4. hey, what's up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike decides to actually live in his apartment, and he learns the young woman's name.

_“What is it?”_

_“Nothing...just forget it...”_

_“Okay, I’ll forget it...”_

_“It’s not like I can remember anything.”_

_“Can you remember that I love you?”_

_“...”_

**☙three☙**

Spike paid for the food, and after receiving a wulong back from the cashier, he exited the nearly vacant grocery store. Gratefully, no one tried to lift a grocery store today out of all places. Because, did he really feel like using his Jericho on thugs that weren’t even trained for one-on-one hand combat?

When he came to a crosswalk, he stopped, and had his eyes travel all the way up to an apartment building, that had seen better days. Normally, at this time, that is where he’d be, on the top floor. But he hadn’t been to his own flat in days, and he more or less wanted to actually live in it because of—

Spike blinked, and looked around. No one was giving him weird looks as though they caught him apparently giving a damn. He put the grocery bag on his left arm, where the other grocery bag was. With a sigh, he turned from the crosswalk, and continued on in the east direction.

**☙**

Spike unlocked the door to his apartment, and when he entered it, he was more-or-less surprised to find that the young woman was nowhere to be found. He almost moved mechanically when he walked into kitchen area, putting the few groceries in their respective places.

He whistled a tune to himself, as he searched for his lighter. “Where in the hell did I put–”

It took only a matter of seconds before she was holding her forehead, and saying over and over again, “Ow!” and “What the hell? What the hell was that for?”

She rubbed her forehead furiously.

Spike kneeled down, and looked her over. What could he say? Don’t sneak up on one who works for a syndicate? But hell, she may have already been successful in her sneaking...

“You surprised me,” He said honestly. “I’m not used to having someone in my home.”

The young woman shrugged. “I didn’t know if you were going to come back. I was going to leave in an hour, regardless...” She trailed off, obviously making it a point not to look at him.

He, on the other hand, made it a point to look at her; which he himself hadn’t realized. “So, you’re from around here?”

She still didn’t look at him. She got off the floor, and straightened the dingy white shirt of his that he swore he nagged from some guy he shot through the head once, yet had still lived. Last he heard, the guy was somewhere near a Milky Way.

“It’s none of your business,” She said in a firm tone. “You haven’t killed me yet. So, I- I’m leaving.”

Spike frowned. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

Opening his mouth again, he looked like he was about to say something—before shutting it again.

Faye had walked off before then, gathering her few things.

“Where is it?” She said to herself, turning around in a circle. She didn’t set it down. If all, she swore it’d been in the back of the boxers she wore...

“You know,” Spike said, “I would’ve never nagged you as a _Glock_ gal.”

Faye turned around, and eyed him like he was a thug and she was part of the ISSP. “Yeah, just hand it over. I don’t have all damn _day_!” She spat out the last word.

She took her small pile of clothes and held them under her right armpit. As she approached the stranger, she began to laugh.

He raised his eyebrow.

She continued laughing, with her eyes closed. She shook her head, and wiped at her eyes. “I can’t believe this. You’re stealing my gun away from me?” She said this with underlying curiosity, yet genuine mirth. “I can’t believe— You finally take my gun away from me? What the hell is it you want?”

She sat down on the couch, and didn’t say a word after her laughter died.

Spike looked down at the gun in his hand, and back at the dark-haired woman. Should he just go ahead and let the words roll off his tongue, or should he let her leave—with her gun?

But he spoke anyway. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t say anything.

“I’ll give you your gun back.”

She then mumbled her response.

“Do you want your gun back, or not?” He asked irritably.

Maybe he just wanted her to look at him...

Her green eyes were on him for a sec, when she answered, “I said it’s Faye...Faye Valentine.”

**☙**

_“Faye-Faye_!”

_“Faye.”_

_“Faye, I need you_!”

_“Look at my eyes Faye!”_

_“She wants somebody to go after her.”_

_“She took everything?!”_

_“She’s back_.”

**☙**

There. It happened again. That sense of familiarity.

His eye was switching on him again, and he couldn’t handle it. But he did opposite of what he truly felt.

He threw her the gun, and walked back to the kitchen.

She didn’t ask him for his name (Why would she?), nor did she say anything at all. Wordlessly, she gathered up her things.

Spike lit a cigarette, leaning against the counter. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Besides, she wasn’t from here.

He so happened to not blow out her brains the first time her saw her.

But she was so familiar to him, in the sense that he should keep her close.

Even though his hand twitched, he stayed where he was; his back leant against the kitchen counter, his eyes on the dingy plastered floor.

**☙**

“Hey, Spike, are you listening?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, he made eye contact with the man he reported to everyday. Bowing, he took a deep breath. “My apologies Mao.”

The aging man laughed almost jovially. “Spiegel, is everything alright? Another run in with the Tigers?”

Spike shook his head. “No sir.”

“Red?”

“No, sir.” Spike’s eyes roamed the room. “Did you ever meet with the leader of the Hitherto Group?”

Mao blinked. “Yes. I did.” He rubbed absentmindedly on the cuffs of his expensive suit, as he smoked from a pipe. “Still no word from Mars?”

Spike nodded, and chose not to say more.

Mao wasn’t his fucking dad. He knew that, because a dad and a son didn’t talk the way he and his boss did. If all, it was a dysfunctional employee-boss relationship, where the boss liked the employee more than the employee liked the boss.

Spike tapped his fingers on the desk as he let his mind drift for the nth time today. He still wasn’t sure why he wanted to ask around for, or track down some girl with green eyes and black hair (with a dangerous purple hue). Maybe he wanted to know how the story ended. Because he hated not knowing the ending to a story.

Back when there was daytime television (it’d been on its last cycle before ultimately dying due to instant stream services, and warring planets—who the fuck wanted to adopt anything from Earth anymore?). He remembered being a young boy, either before or after he became an orphan. Who the fuck knows?

He’d sneak off to an old woman’s house, and sit outside her window. It was the window to the living room, where a tv was on, and the old woman sat in a recliner, dozing.

And a show would come on around the time he’d sit at her open window (the woman would often get too warm in her house, he’d assumed, and loved to feel a slight breeze). Nothing entirely special of a show. Just the run-of-the-mill actors and actresses who feigned sicknesses and heartbreak real well.

But a young Spike Spiegel for a time (even if he would never in this lifetime admit it), lived for those actors and actresses on that TV set. He wanted to know why Nessa couldn’t be with Howard, and whether or not Gloria and Glenn’s sweet aunt would live after that accident in the limo ride...it seemed so important then, and in some way it still was now.

Maybe, he’d just check if she joined another try-hard gang, or was actually trying to make a decent living on this planet.

Like it was any of his business. But in this stupid justifiable way, it _was_ indeed, because he spared her life. He, a trained syndicate member, could’ve shot her through the skull like she was another Space Smack junkie bumming money off strangers on a Tuesday.

Besides, she’d told him her name, which was a good lead to start with.

Faye Valentine.

**☙**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you both for the two lovely reviews. 
> 
> **spinalfluidsample** and **LiaOO** , you both rock.


	5. notiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye decides play hard luck woman, and Spike learns that no one really ever likes a cheat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who continue to read this story, and leave a kudos.

**☙four☙**

Faye decided a long time ago she wasn’t going to commit suicide. It was more-so an absolute decision, rather than some promise she made to herself. But she still found herself standing in the park, looking out towards the river that ran through it.

Perhaps this is where pride got you, or complete idiocy. Faye couldn’t decide which yet, as she looked back at the water that loved taunting her. Either way, she was still a fish out of water.

“Hey! Don’t do it!”

Faye hadn’t even made a move when those words were spoken to her. She looked behind her to realize an old woman stood behind her, with a mechanical walker that looked brand spanking new. The woman’s smile was genuine, and pleasant. As though she saw something in the Twenty-something year old she herself didn’t see.

Faye smiled weakly. “I- I wasn’t going to jump. I was just looking...”

The old woman took awhile to reach Faye, but made it in due time with the help of the mechanical walker.

“You’re not from here,” She stated simply. “You look...old.”

Faye nearly choked on her own spit at the old woman’s statement. What did she mean by _old_? Damn, maybe she’d been crazy from the moment she’d came out of cryogenic sleep. Maybe she had a warped mind and saw herself as some young vixen with dark hair.

“I- I’m sorry,” Faye said feebly. “I’ll be leaving now.”

But the woman stopped her, by putting her hands on both sides of her face. “You remind me of myself when I was young.”

Faye didn’t even know this woman. Why wasn’t she running away from this ancient looking woman who’d called her “old”?

“You have an early Twenty-first century beauty...” The woman said, deep in thought. “ _Ah_ , you must be an angel.”

Faye touched the old woman’s hands, gently removing them from the sides of her face.

Obviously, this woman may have been just as delusional and lost as her. Fuck, they might’ve even been the same age.

“I’m sorry mam. I must be leaving now.” Faye walked away, without seeing the old woman’s face which was now being covered by tears.

“God help the girl.”

☙

Faye entered the small abandoned building she and the boys squatted in. Their things were still here, and she walked over to where her side of the room had been. It was sectioned off by some flimsy divider, with fading flower designs, that made her feel safe and secure.

“I might as well skedaddle,” She said quietly. “Whoever the fuck knew either of the two might come here, startin’ shit.”

She took one of the emptied trash bags that were crumpled in a ball on the floor.

What she could have had run through her mind was finding resolutions to the problems that were now in her life due to yesterday, but she didn’t. She continued to stuff all of her valuables and necessities into the trash bag.

Maybe she could attempt changing her identity again, or maybe she could try joining another gang. But who was she kidding? She couldn’t even hold up a convenient store, and she broke out in tears when it came time to shoot the bastard who gratefully hadn’t taken her life like he did her associates.

Thinking back to that , Faye noted the way he’d approached her like he knew her. He didn’t say anything, but there was something in her eyes she swore she saw every time she made eye contact with him.

The night he’d taken her back to his apartment, she hadn’t even gotten the chance to make eye contact with him, because she’d most likely been unconscious during the trip to his place, and even once their destination had been reached.

But when she’d seen him the first time, when he’d nearly knocked her head off, she swore he’d had that knowing look in his eyes. It said something like “I know you _wench_!”

“I know you _Shrew_ woman!”

“I fucking know you...”

But how did he know her? For all she fucking knew she was in some fucked up parallel universe...or world...or dream.

Yet, it simply didn’t appear that way.

Everything wasn’t dripping with the glow filter, and there wasn’t nice xylophone music playing in the background—nice _fucking_ xylophone music.

But Faye had just described a dream, instead of a nightmare.

Before blowing this popsicle stand, Faye changed out of the stranger’s garments into clothing she was more familiar with. She tightened the straps on her converse, and put on another beanie she collected.

☙

Faye frowned, still not successful in her attempt at shooting the target. What the hell was she thinking?

Before she could even think to turn around and walk off, she was slammed against the wall.

“ _Bitch_!” The woman she’d been following for the last five hours spat in her face. “You think you can just walk the fuck away? Think again!”

Faye eyed the woman with so much menace that said “You really wanna try me... _bitch_?”

The woman smirked, even to the point where her cheap looking dentist job glistened in the glow of the night lights that surrounded this part of town. It was the late 2060s, and that was the best she could do? If the woman hadn’t shown a blade in her face, Faye would’ve laughed just now.

“You’re another one of those bounty hunters, _eh_?”

Technically, that would be a _no_. Because she’d sort of been coerced into tracking down the Pac-Man lady who liked to steal from “ghosts” (aka corpses/dead people).

Who knew, just walking into a bar and ordering the weakest of whiskeys could get one a lot of info. “Yeah, the bitch’s name is Tani Rotu. Last seen yesterday, in Ganymede in some sorta fancy lookin’ ‘ship.”

It was genuine coincidence that Faye spotted her when she was walking the streets for a job, or some particular way to bum off some money.

Tani looked to almost stick the sharp object into Faye’s eyes when the early Twenty-first century girl closed her eyes tightly and proceeded to ram her head into the woman’s face. Luckily, the worst impact the blade made was to her hair; Faye got a new hair cut.

Ms. Rotu held her broken nose, as she grunted in pain. A nose job isn’t the most painless of procedures.

From then on, it was a full fledged fight.

☙

**2008.**

_“It’s been understood since the early days of these arts that one must have a good defense as much as offense.”_

_A teenage girl looked at the scene before her, as her teacher proceeded to demonstrate with a fellow student what he meant by his statement. It seemed simple really, in that moment, as the instructor moved with the student._

_One must always keep a guard up. It’s the most effective tip when in battle, life, and love even._

_The student attempted a power house kick to Mr Koh, but as expected from a master, Koh dodged it effortlessly. No matter what maneuver, Koh was able to block as well as deliver a blow._

_As the fellow student lay unconscious, everyone in the class hardly fazed by it looked to the teacher. He smiled genuinely, and started to speak again. “One is just as much of a challenge when they can defend themselves **well**.”_

_Now, the teenage girl and a fellow student were paired off as well as the other students. She stood off in a corner with her partner as they took turns blocking. This time she was the one attempting to deliver a blow._

_But just when she kicked out, she found herself flying backwards into a wall._

_“Shoot,” She said, gingerly rubbing the back of her head. No matter what, she still felt a blush creeping up to her cheeks because everyone in the class was staring at her; they’d stopped what they’re doing to gawk at their “hardheaded” classmate._

_She almost laughed at her own pun, but maybe that’d prove to be too painful._

_“Ah,” Mr Koh said with contemplation, “You forgot the other sides to blocking.”_

_He then approached her, and held out his hand to help her off the ground. “You forgot that blocking is another form of fighting. **Aish!** Get off the ground. Kari come back here!”_

_So, she and her partner were back at it again._

_Forward, kick, push, block...turn, bring knuckle up...backward, forward, jump, kick, push, block—_

☙

Faye Valentine moved her shoulders inward, trying for some relief. But she ultimately sat down, examining the damage Tani had done. Well, to be honest, it wasn’t much. The only thing she managed to do was dislocate her shoulder.

Faye rubbed at the blood on her knuckles, knees, and ankles. She didn’t expect to come out of that fight unscathed, but as she looked at the amount of wulongs in her hand. She knew it’d been worth it.

She didn’t have a place to stay tonight, and she definitely wasn’t going to blow her newly earned cash on a temporary home. Maybe she should try learning how to fly a ship. Then if she were able to get her hands on a ship by betting or gambling, she’d have transportation and a home.

But those were only thoughts, not necessarily anything she could possibly do at the moment.

Once she left the ISSP station, she went to the casino that was a couple blocks away.

Ever since waking up from “cryo shut-eye”, she developed some flaws, that would have perhaps been a major problem before she— _whatever_.

She counted the money in her head as she thought about the amount of luck she may have left before calling it quits for the day. Ah, maybe it would not hurt to deal another.

Yet, before she could even act on that thought, impulse, or hunch. She felt someone come up from behind her. Seriously? This hadn’t even been her tenth round, and these bozos were already nagging her as a damn phony. These gadjos have another thing comin—

“So, you gamble on your down time?”

Faye fought the impulse to turn around and make eye contact with the guy she thought she walked away from forever. Yeah, she was sure she would have never seen this guy again, even if she’d have to couch surf or play the tease. She hadn’t thought about going back to his crap-ass apartment with the spoilt milk and cigarette stains.

So, she acted as though he weren’t there, and continued to focus on the game in front of her. Mr Mayhew wasn’t going to have a lucky number tonight. She was going to win.

But just as she was about to make her move, that _bastard_ stole her “lucky” dice.

☙

“So, you got a haircut?” He asked her, as he lit one.

This would’ve looked like a meet-cute from some earlier twenty first century film. But it wasn’t. Because unconscious bodies were scattered all around the floor, Faye Valentine didn’t have her beanie on, and the bastard who stood across from her was smoking a cigarette with a nasty bullet graze on his elbow.

Faye shrugged wordlessly. What was he doing here? He spared her life, and somehow he felt entitled to stalk her (or make her life a living hell?)?

“You would’ve gotten caught eventually,” He said. “That guy in the tight-ass jacket was onto ya.”

Faye still didn’t say anything. This had been her favorite casino, and now, she was on “the don’t let in” list. Maybe she could try that casino down on grand, past that one place with the fake leaning tower of Pizza...

She wasn’t focused on the guy who studied her with a nonchalant air.

He was almost to the stub of his cigarette, when he continued to mull over the fact that Faye Valentine had indeed gotten a haircut (an uneven one at that), she looked better without that damn beanie, and she knew Muay Thai.

When he’d (admittedly) ratted her out to everyone at the dice table, he expected for she and him to get sent to the back room, and to have a torturing tactic attempted on them. But when Mr. Tight-Suit brandished that gun, and motioned for some burly staff members to handle him while he “handled” Faye...well, from basic instinct Spike had the goons knocking heads, and she had Mr.Tight-Suit with the gun stuck up his butt hole.

“You’re not from here–” He’d barely gotten out his words, when she abruptly left the room.

Quickly, he put out his cigarette using the point of his shoe, before going after her.


	6. keep callin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend who keeps to himself in the shadows has a weight to carry, much closer to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't much **spike x faye** in this chapter, because I admit that out of all the characters that were never really touched upon a lot, Shin was my favorite. On the other hand, my sister was a big fan of Gren. She believes that the song ["Lady Stardust" by David Bowie](https://youtu.be/5UQvBzo_rJA) describes Gren.
> 
> Either way, I feel as though Shin deserves a bit of an arc every now and then. He won't be popping up in every chapter, nor will he be focused on in every chapter. But things will indeed get very interesting for him.
> 
> Also, I did a double update. I posted two new chapters. And again, thank you for reading.

_“I’ve come to understand the way it is, I was lost and in the dark..._

_But now I understand...”_

**☙five☙**

Shin didn’t meddle. If he did, he wouldn’t be in the Red Dragons. Instead, he would probably be lying dead somewhere, due to his _hypothetical_ “snitch-like” nature. So, he would call it observing, when he noticed Spike Spiegel wasn’t around for a game of pool, nor for Julia.

Julia and Vicious for once, were hanging out and doing some-what “normal” couple things.

Smoothing back his hair using his left hand, he raised an eyebrow. Maybe he could try finding him. Maybe he was at his own apartment. But Spiegel was barely at his apartment. Shin, himself, was barely home at the apartment he and his brother Lin shared with their ailing mother.

“Shin,” His mother would call out in pain. “Sh- _iiiiin_!”

He would give her her medicine before leaving.

Who could sit through that each day, knowing that the life span of that person who wailed all day long, in agony, would soon be dead? His brother Lin couldn’t do it, he didn’t even give their mother her medicine. He ignored her.

“Shin?”

He took his eyes off the pool table, and looked to who called him.

Vicious wasn’t at her hip anymore. For some reason, Shin thought Julia looked lost because of that; because no one was at her hip, showing her off like prized territory.

He nodded slightly, so she could ask him what he knew she wanted to know. Thing was, he wasn’t so sure either.

He was normally here, beating him.

“Have you seen him today?” She asked, softly. “Did he come in to play?”

Shin shook his head wordlessly, moving some stray pieces of hair out of his eyes.

Julia nodded.

For some reason, it looked as though she thought he was lying.

She seemed so unconvinced by his answer, but maybe she knew...

She knew he wouldn’t bow down to her like—

“Julia?” Vicious was at her side, with his arm wrapped around her waist. If one looked closer, you could notice how dilated his eyes were. Shin and Julia both noticed, but made themselves “not notice”, because it was better left as that.

Shin smiled slightly at the couple, and retreated back to the pool table.

☙

Before the night (or whole day) was over and coming to an end, and before Shin were to once more be responsible for his mother. He did make a stop. Perhaps, the mid Twenty year old was concerned for his friend, or simply curious. Who knows?

But he idled at the corner of the sidewalk, that ran beside his comrade’s apartment.

From where Shin stood, he could tell, from what he saw through the window, that Spike Spiegel had the television on. So, he was indeed home.

Maybe he and Julia finally decided to end the love affair they had going on. Or maybe Spike broke things off with Julia, and he hadn’t told her yet.

Shin sighed, and turned around.

Why did he care?

Because maybe he realized what game was being played. There was no escaping this, and he knew that Spiegel was still in search of that reality, that dream that even he himself was looking for. Shin was destined to find his reality in the syndicate, or maybe (with little a chance) outside the syndicate.

So, he walked over to the apartment building where Spike Spiegel resided every now and then, when he wasn’t blasting bullets and off on a rendezvous with Julia.

As he entered the apartment building, he looked in his peripheral and saw no one. It was one of those apartments where the Landlord wasn’t necessarily convenient. Anyone could walk into this building, bullets away. But the only syndicate members that lived here were Spike, and an old timer who loved to eavesdrop on people’s phone conversations, both wireless and landline.

Walking up the steps, Shin put his hand in his pockets and allowed himself to go where he remembered Spike’s place was.

In front of the door, he was about to knock, when he looked to the left. A neighbor who was one of those petty thieves that liked to transfer drugs into Ganymede or some dark place on Mars, had his door ajar, peering into the slight opening of it. He and Shin made eye contact.

“I wouldn’t go in there,” The neighbor said in a whisper, “Your friend’s got a girl in there with him.”

Shin could’ve laughed...if he wanted to. But he wasn’t a laughing person. More-so a rye grin sorta guy, who put his head down when immaturity took over instead of the persona of seriousness he long since mastered.

“A girl?” Shin replied, nearing the neighbor. “Are you just sayin’ that?”

The part-time thief shook his head with the kind of sureness that convinced any person. “He was carryin’ her in her arms, the broad was unconscious.”

Shin raised an eyebrow.

_Unconscious?_

“Dead?”

The criminal shook his head. “No...unless, your friends some kinda necrophiliac.”

Shin rolled his eyes, and said, “Don’t let him know I was here.”

He then exited the apartment, and went to care for his ailing mother, who he felt had been calling his name.

☙

Shin slipped the tablet into his mother’s drink before holding the glass up to her lips. She was barely conscious, but conscious enough to still take her prescribed medicine.

It’d been long since he started resenting his brother, because that’s all he could do. His brother was a bully, and would’ve punched the living daylights out of him if he confronted him about the lack of concern he exhibited towards their mother.

“Shin, don’t say another word,” Lin would say. “Who’s got the higher position in the Dragons, I do. So shut the fuck up.” Then Lin would walk off, trying to go for that cool and purposeful air that Shin felt he himself was better at.

Taking the glass away from his mother’s lips, he stood up and walked over to the kitchen sink. Setting the glass where the other dirty dishes were, he then took a seat at the kitchen table.

He thought of Spike Spiegel just then. Noting the way his comrade seemed not himself lately. Not attending Mao’s meetings, nor did he have time for a game of pool. Maybe another girl was occupying his time, and making his life...meaningful.

“Shiiin!”

The person called turned his head to where his mother was. She was barely off the couch, when he raced over to keep her from falling face first onto the floor.

“Ma, what are you doing?” He said in a slight whisper, masking the way he thought his stomach almost dropped. “A- are you in pain?”

His mother didn’t say anything. She had hardly even made eye contact with him, before closing her eyes. Her breaths were still even, and her face wasn’t as grey.

Shin ran his fingers through his hair, waiting.


	7. when the caged bird sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye learns the name of the guy who decided to take her into his crappy apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again!
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read this story. 
> 
> In a way, I feel as though there has been this Spike x Faye fanfiction revival, and I do hope it continues. Please, whoever ships Spike Spiegel and Faye Valentine, and has a knack for writing. Please do publish and continue to type up that lovely fiction dedicated to the pair.
> 
> Also, if anyone reading this has a tumblr account/blog, and frequents tumblr. Feel free to follow my cowboy bebop/90s anime related blog that is under the name of [black-space-cowboy](https://black-space-cowboy.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Lastly, Professor_Clayton, thank you for your lovely comment last chapter.
> 
> \- catoandtonto

_“Make a wish.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Just make one.”_

_“Ah, okay. I wish that we could be together, like this, in all the lives we live.”_

**\- another universe they live in**

**☙ six ☙**

Faye sat in the kitchen, eating an orange and a pile of saltine crackers. She found it almost funny that he decided to stalk up his pantry full of groceries after she left earlier that day. It’s almost as though, he had been expecting her to be back here in his apartment.

She took another cracker from the pile on the napkin, before looking over to where he sat, watching an episode of some reality show that involved singing and animals.

He hadn’t made a sound really. He hadn’t said a word to her since he convinced her to come to his apartment. But they’d gotten into an actual fight that involved whatever his own technique was, and her own.

Yet, if she hadn’t tried so hard on that kick she wouldn’t have never ended up back into a wall, winded, as he looked her over with that...smirk. Saying, “ _Faye_. You can’t beat me. So how bout it, you rest up at my place before our next battle?”

She hadn’t said anything...at first. Until he got really close to her face, and her eyes made contact with his.

What the hell?

_“Look at my eyes Faye!”_

One eye was slightly off in tone compared to the other eye. Subconsciously frowning, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

_“Past...future...”_

But the moment was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

He stepped back, and took his cheap-looking phone from his pocket, and answered it. She raised an eyebrow at him, but thought better of her immediate reaction, and walked off.

What the hell was that about? Why did he seem so damn eager to be in her life?

_“Are you from here?”_

_“You’re not from here are you?”_

Did it look that damn obvious? Was she some woman, who looked like a slut from the early 2010s?

Maybe those debt collectors were on to her again. Maybe he was one of their field agents, trying to reel her in, before skinning her alive, or attempting to assault her before– before– taking everything she owned.

But for tonight, could she stay at his place? It was already getting late, and she’d made herself too comfortable.

And she felt like she knew this guy...but she didn’t know his name...

She was taking out a jar of peanut butter and she took a spoon from a drawer, and she was eating it—eating the peanut butter. And for some reason, she thought of a dog, who looked to be of the Corgi breed. He was looking up at her, and whining at her...

_“You don’t work..you don’t eat...”_

_Damn._

Faye stopped cramming spoonfuls of the spread in her mouth, and that is when she opted for the orange and crackers she thought she saw stuffed in a bag in one of the corners of the kitchenette. During all of this, she’d heard remnants of the conversation the guy was having on the phone as of now. But since he didn’t have the damn phone on speaker, she didn’t understand much of the conversation:

“First. Second. Third...You realize I’m going to dispose of this phone after our conversation?...Yeah. No...He was wearing one of those shirts...Hell if I know..”

**☙**

After she disposed of the orange skin, and napkin. She walked out of the kitchen area into the living part.

She glanced at the tv and saw that a zebra and toucan were apparently battling it out for best rendition of some nursery rhyme. A few months ago Faye would have found this hilarious. Bizarre. Out of this world. But this decade had already ruined her. She’d seen enough.

She sat down next to him. But they were a feet apart, and she wrapped her arms around her legs.

His eyes were still glued to the television set.

“What’s the point of this damn show?” She asked brashly, yet in a whisper. “Us humans still can’t understand squat.”

He looked at her, and shrugged. “I like it when cats come on the show.”

“Cats can sing?”

“No. Often times they’re the first to go home. But there was this one special occurrence...”

“Special?” She murmured. Wordlessly, she took a smoke of his off the table.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Yeah, it was special...”

Before he could go on, the “ _cockadoodledoo-ooo_ ” of a rooster rang from the television set.

“The rooster’s going to be tonight’s winner,” he stated matter-of-factly. “The birds always fucking win.”

Faye shook her head. She was nearly done with the cigarette that was wedged between her pointer and ring finger.

Soon enough, her eyes became fixated on the television set. Strange enough, the appeal of the show was quite obvious.

A couple hours passed, and a comfortable silence filled the atmosphere between the quasi-strangers. The guy was almost finished with his final pack of cancer sticks for the day...the young woman had snagged three or four within the remaining hours of the night that passed.

Faye’s eyes were still on the screen, when she finally asked him.

In her head she kept referring to him by the understood pronouns, or as “guy”.

“It’s Spike,” he answered. “Spike Spiegel.”

“That your real name, Spike?”

“I don’t know. That’s what everyone in the system called me.”

He didn’t answer Faye’s question in a manner that would encourage sympathy to the listener. He answered it in the manner of one who would _for now_ understand their past. Faye could very much guess that, because she of course envied a past he knew.

Her response could’ve been, “Yeah. I don’t know if my name’s actually Faye Valentine.” But she kept mum. Instead, she whispered, “Spike.” And there was a familiarity of that rolling off her tongue, or like she’d heard that name being echoed in more ways than one.

_“Spike.”_

_“Spike-person.”_

_“Lunkhead!!”_

_“Give him this message...”_

She then laid her head down on his lap, while in the process of feeling him flinch.

“Rooster Rooney wins!!!”

Her eyes drooped. “The damn bird won, Spike.”

She didn’t get a response.

**☙**


	8. make it easy on yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye knows when she's about to overstay her welcome, but she surprises herself, and someone else surprises her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Again, thank you for giving this story a chance. And just so you know, the chapters will be getting longer. It's just a bit of delay in build up, but I'm trying to improve. Also, thank you **Moira_Lathal** for your words. Your advice and constructive criticism is welcomed, and I've definitely gained a lot from it. I have been going back looking over previous and future chapters, trying to convey the overall atmosphere and visual I'm trying so hard for. 
> 
> Thank you **fzzhman** and **thehardcoreshipper** for your kind words.

_“I just want you to know that regardless of how my life ends...I was glad to know you. You were the best thing to ever happen.”_

\- **the man who thought he was an island**

**☙ seven ☙**

Spike had fallen asleep right after Faye did.

He fell asleep in the same position he’d been in when watching the telly. In a slouched position, and his right arm barely on the arm of the couch, his head lulled back, with his hooked nose pointing up to the ceiling. Faye’s head was mostly on his lap, cheek resting near his hip.

They’d slept for hours, in this position. The sun set and rose, and by late morning Spike was awake, and Faye’s head wasn’t resting in his lap. Instead, she was in the kitchen, washing dishes and humming a tune.

Spike squinted his eyes, and straightened his form. He let out an awkward cough before turning his eyes on Faye again, who was no longer washing dishes. She’d left the room.

For a sec Spike got to thinking she made her great escape once more. But she was free to leave anytime, and he wasn’t holding her hostage...Even though he’d like to think she was staying here on her own accord and he was just being a real nice guy who hesitated in letting her stay.

But Faye hadn’t made her great escape, she came back from his room eventually. And this time her hair was up in a small ponytail, and she was wearing a bit of her usual minimalist eyeliner.

“You’re finally up,” She said cooly. “No work today? Or whatever it is the hell you do.”

Spike, without the slightest realization, continued to study her; staring at her hair now held with elastic constraints, and her eyes ruined with that black stuff. Either she was totally in the zone, or blind in the peripheral, Faye didn’t act as though he was staring at her so intensely. She started to hum, taking an orange from the little grocer’s bag it came with.

Spike finally responded. “Nah, I’m off today.”

He leaned back on the couch, putting both of his hands folded together, behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to somehow make sense in his mind why it looked the way it did; a murky eggshell.

Faye continued to hum, and eat her orange. Keeping her distance from the mobster, by standing at the sink. She leaned her body against it, peeling off the skin of the orange and chomping down on it once its insides were exposed.

Again, she had no reason to stay. Faye needed to go figure things out, and try to gamble her way out of homelessness. She didn’t belong here with this guy named Spike who didn’t kill her when he could have. She needed to leave.

Once she was finished with the citrus fruit, she dumped its remains in the trash can. Soon after, she was in Spike’s bedroom, bundling up her things.

She kept telling herself that he was now probably out, doing whatever he did on his “off” days, but when she stepped out of his room, with her things. He still sat where he was, but this time his eyes landed on her.

Damn it.

But she opted to not say anything, and continued her way to the front door, when he started speaking. “You don’t have enough to live on in this planet...I can tell.”

Faye didn’t turn her head to look at him. She wouldn’t...Couldn’t.

“With your gang out of commission, why are you so eager to struggle out there?” There was a pause, and Faye put her hand on the door knob. The mobster was apparently out of words. Good.

But then she felt his breath on her neck.

_When the heck did he get up from the couch?_

She hadn’t heard him make a move.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” Spike whispered that in her ear, and for some reason he liked being that close. He could see that her ears were pierced, and a faint scar on her cheekbone.

Faye closed her eyes briefly before opening them. “No. I’m not afraid of you. Whatever you do is your business. So, just let me be on my way.”

“Not even a thank you?”

Faye turned the doorknob, resisting the urge to sigh. What was this guy doing? What kind of mind game was this? She didn’t need this...

Before she got the door open, her body was turned around and pressed against the door.

There was some things Faye knew from this point on, as she avoided his gaze, but felt his firm grip on her wrists. The first thing she knew was that she could fight her way out of this, like she did those debt collectors.

And in some fucked up way, she was in his debt now.

Another thing she knew was that he really wasn’t holding her tightly, he was wordlessly giving her the option to still leave.

Then the list of things she knew finally waned completely when she felt her body relax, and she allowed herself to make full eye contact with him.

☙

Even though Spike didn’t explicitly state this. She knew she was going to have to lie low. It be due to whoever his associates were, and most-likely because of who her associates were as well.

He’d even shot her down when she suggested going out by herself and getting another bounty. He laughed a little and told her to keep hiding. He didn’t even vocalize his opposition, his eyes said everything. And that was the thing, his eyes spoke volumes in a way she was sure he didn’t realize. Of course he wasn’t attracted to her, _that_ she could tell. Yet, in his eyes it felt as though she needed to really look at them to be told a secret.

“You can have my bed,” he mumbled. “I barely sleep here anyway.”

Faye nodded, and turned her attention back on the television screen. She especially did this to still her curiosity. Because as she said earlier what he did was his business, not hers.

So, that night she slept in his bed, and he went out and never came back...

...until the morning.


	9. gonna come out anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye can't fight Poker Alice any longer, and decides to chance it by rebelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm thankful to those who chose to give my story a chance. Constantly, I am working on chapters. So, please hold on for the crazy ride that's gonna start getting really crazy in the upcoming chapters. Also, another appearance from Shin is nigh.

_“In this life, the one we live in now. On the Bebop. Where you have a bounty on your head, and I’m running from a past. But we’re here, with a mutt I hate, a kid I hate, an old man I hate, and you, a shrew woman...I hate. I- realized in this life that this is– was the one I took you the most for granted. You were, no **are** , so close to me, but I’m the one far away. Why couldn’t I hold you in this life? Whereas in the other one I held you so close, but you were taken away from me so soon...m- maybe that’s why I held my dreams so close. Because in all my lives and parallel universes I could never have you. Maybe that’s why I kept you at arm’s length, because even I know we can’t reach that happy conclusion in this universe. But my heart belongs in all the ones where I met you and despite thinking of another, you still never left my mind, nor did my heart ever become devoid of you. So just cut the fucking crap, and look at me! Let me know why you can’t come back to the Bebop! I’ve been waiting for an answer! Since I’ve given you the one you’ve been wanting from me, now! Here in the **now**! Faye, my funny Valentine, just tell me! Please?!”_

_“Why are you telling me all this shit, huh? You were never like this before... I’m not staying for the inevitable, apparently since I’ve been in all the lives you’ve lived before, that I can’t seem to remember! Why is it that in our story I can’t remember the past you never can forget? It’s unfair, and stupid! You’re stupid! I’m not coming back because I’m this fish out of water that is always drowning, and I’m still drowning. And I don’t want you or anyone else to try an’ save me. My future is fucking doomed, and the ‘one’ I’m always destined to meet is always destined to part from me sooner than later...always! Always! Always! You said it yourself Spike, and I’ll hold you to it. I can be someone you love and care about, but never that golden haired woman in your dreams. I’m some scarred up stupid bitch that gets the shorter end of the stick, and the lousy excuses! You said in this life you leave me with a fucked-up goodbye, and in the last one no one you knew could stand for us being together because I loved you in a way they envied, and I jumped in front of you…letting that bullet go through me. Such a selfish asshole, avoiding me to avoid that inevitable ending you speak of! Such shit! We’re hurt either way, and one of us dies either way! Maybe I should make your life easier by eating the gun first—”_

_“No, no, no! Fuck, where are you Faye?! Tell me! — I need you! There, I admit it, I **need you**! Just let me see you—”_

_“Goodbye Lunkhead.”_

_-_ **somewhere at the end of the final universe**

☙

Faye painted her finger nails a cloudy blue, and smiled at her work so far. Wiping a bit of polish that strayed from her nail onto the cuticle, she looked at the clock on the television monitor.

She really needed a distraction, because it’s like she was starting to be some mob wife who waited up for her mobster of a husband...Even when Faye herself wasn’t sure what the green headed idiot did. And they weren’t lovers, nor had their relationship crossed a line. He was just a _lonely?_ idiot who offered her a place to stay for a while. Even if he didn’t just come out and say it.

Besides, there’d be nights where he didn’t even come back to his apartment. And naturally she’d wonder where he was.

No one ever knocked on the door, so for the most part things would be as uneventful as a Sunday evening in an arcade.

Yet, when he did come back to the apartment he wouldn’t say anything to her. He’d have microwave fried noodles, chain smoke while staring blankly at the moving picture on the television monitor, and eventually fall asleep on the couch. Not a word to her about anything, nor an acknowledgement of her presence.

As she started on the other hand, wiping a smudge on another cuticle, Faye harrumphed to herself. Why could she not go out and do as she please? He didn’t tell her she couldn’t, but the option wasn’t preferred—she knew that. But she still smiled to herself devilishly.

Nails and toes polished, she stood up, walking like an Egyptian almost.

He had to have some money stashed away somewhere. Heck, even a bottle of whiskey could do her some good. She wanted to get away from desolation, even if that meant not having a place to stay for a while...

She went through his things, including the dresser drawers, the kitchen drawers, and the vanity drawers. She lifted up the mattress to his bed, and still there was nothing.

So, he seemed like this old-fashioned dude, even though, apparently, he kept his money in a bank...Or, he gave it to whatever scumbag he worked for.

Slightly dejected, she walked into the bathroom, back at the vanity. The mirror was all hers then, mocking her for the situation she was in. No one gave a shit about her...not even Spike. But that’s old news. She didn’t need him.

She could walk out of this apartment now.

So, she did.

☙

And once she walked out, she realized her things were still inside. But nothing a little street gambling couldn’t fix. There had to be some bored grown ass men throwing a dice somewhere.

Reaching the corner where a crosswalk began, she bumped into a woman with blonde hair. The woman was beautiful in this _Gloria_ (that 80s film she for some reason had a feeling she watched before cryo) -type way, sporting a long black coat, golden hair falling on her shoulders naturally. Faye believed she _herself_ , on the other hand, really did look like shit, not some badass like she thought.

Either way, the woman didn’t acknowledge her. And Faye started walking again, looking for those dice throwers who took playing jacks to a different level that would’ve winded the normal brained.

About an hour after, she sat on the steps to a split-level house. Two men were crouched in front of her, staring at the ground; eyes focused on a small black polka-dotted cube.

_“Evens!”_

Faye Valentine managed to beat them out of their money. Maybe if she played a bit more, she could leave Spike’s ass for good.

She was already in one man’s debt, she didn’t need another.

_“Odds!”_

Ah, she could see that lunkhead bastard walking into his apartment all cool-like; something like “a saunter with swag”, and he would feel a difference in the air, or he’d walk into his room, expecting her to be there...but in fact she wasn’t.

What Faye didn’t know is that the world didn’t make sense to him at the moment he realized her absence.

So, it was 1:00am, and she was sleeping on clean sheets in a budget motel when he made his grand entrance. She was all snug, in new pajamas that consisted of basketball shorts, and a loose white camisole. She slept with content, and even hugged the pillow that used to lay in its spot on the other side of the bed.

Spike stared at her, again, without realizing what he was doing.

He could’ve gone out with the boys, or spent another night with Julia. It would’ve been easy. Yet, somehow, in the middle of the day, he felt like something was wrong.

His targets had been off when shooting, and he didn’t attempt small talk with Mao. He’d even called Shin by the name Lin, and vice versa.

What the hell was wrong with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. And thank you to **Moira_Lathal** , **Lazy_Creativity** , and **thehardcoreshipper** for your thoughtful, profound, and considerate input. It really means a lot.
> 
> Also, thank you **earthlostgirl** , and **thevelvetroom** for willing to give this story a shot! Much appreciated as well. 
> 
> And thank you to those silent guests and readers, thank you too.


	10. the kind of girl your mother must have been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shin realizes there is a sickness much worse, than the one on Mars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. It has been a while. Thank you for those who continue to read this story. I've double updated! And, I need to get back to reading the fics in the Bebop fandom. I have so much stories to catch up on; The newly written ones, and the ones that need to be updated.

“I’ll be right back.”

Shin waited patiently as the pharmacist went off to the back room, to grab the prescription. As he waited he looked around, taking note of his surroundings.

The smell of old tile flooring, and gaudy $1 plastic hit at his nose. In the background, faintly he could hear cash registers and the pressing of its buttons, the automatic doors that granted entry and escape, and a song he might’ve heard back at the bar, when Lin made a scene with 8-ball.

Everything was as usual.

_No one._

_Nothing._

“Excuse me?” A soft voice said from behind him. “Excuse me sir?”

_Fuck._

Shin turned around, and found himself face-to-face with a young girl in a red coat who didn’t quite make complete eye contact with him. It’s as though she stared into oblivion, unaware of those who could, well...see.

The girl who spoke was blind.

“Yes?” Shin asked.

The blind girl smiled genuinely. Like, maybe she was told something she wanted to hear. “ _Ah_ , you have a nice voice.”

Shin raised an eyebrow. How did one respond to such statement? I mean, he spoke and she decided that he could sing the opera?

The girl tilted her head to the side. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just thought you should know.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, and watched as the young women hung her head down in acute embarrassment.

Shin looked back over at the counter. The pharmacist was still in the back.

“I’m here to pick up sleeping pills. The only way I can sleep at night.”

Shin looked back at the blind girl.

_Yes_ , she still wanted to make conversation. He furrowed his eyebrows, and he glanced behind her.

It was just the two of them in line.

“I’m an insomniac, I guess. My brother said I should just close my eyes and take deep gentle breaths...And maybe sleep will come...”

Shin coughed awkwardly.

Usually people avoided those who looked like they worked for the mob. Slicked-back gelled hair, a dark dress suit, and a tiny lapel pin with Japanese characters isn’t exactly subtle but it wasn’t loud to the point where the Red Dragons were sent packing by the ISSP. It was loud enough to leave a message though, that the blind girl apparently couldn’t see.

_Man_ , he was an asshole.

Maybe Lin was the nicer one of he and Shin.

“But you know,” The blind girl continued. “With my condition...My eyes are closed all the time. It’s just darkness.”

For a second the girl seemed to no longer be in reality. She looked to be thinking, and Shin wondered if she realized he was staring at her.

Either way, he hadn’t said anything since she told him he had a lovely speaking voice.

He also noticed the dull color of her eyes. A light blue color that made him see a picture of his mother’s tablets in his head.

But despite the dullness in the young girl’s eyes, there was a twinkle, and warmth.

“But blindness has its perks you know,” She leant in, holding her right hand to the corner of her mouth, whispering. “I can hear a lot better now. And I think a lot more based on my intuition...or, I think like an Earth shrimp.”

Shin quirked an eyebrow.

His mother didn’t often talk about Earthly things.

She’d been ten years old during the “Planet migration”. So, whatever she knew about Earth was replaced by her more permanent knowledge of Mars or more specifically Callisto. And Shin could only get so much out of his mother then, compared to now.

“You must be wondering,” The blind girl murmured knowingly. “What the heck is an Earth shrimp?”

Before Shin could even respond or quirk a brow again, the pharmacist was back at the counter.

Shin moved closer to the counter. Forgetting about the blind girl and her rambling.

“We don’t have the prescription,” the pharmacist said in a clipped tone. “Please be on your way.”

Shin blinked a couple of times, before realizing everything was occurring in real time.

Despite the backwardness and eccentricity of this whole lot, everything was still normal by all standards.

He’d sniffed redeye once, in its most natural form.

As most people say, a pint of redeye gives you a high better than anything you could bet your money on.

It was better than sex, sweets, wulongs, and sleep.

The high would creep up onto you before deciding to make you travel into the world of possibilities; where the deepest and most hedonistic of desires and pleasures became one.

Perception became gut, and your heart became mind.

There aren’t those many “shades of blue”. But you do see “green birds”, and an indescribable color that you can call by name at that moment in pure bliss and tranquility.

When redeye consumes you, it’s like a release. A release so impactful that you might compare it to anything that would require reaching a climax or making a lot of noise.

Perhaps, whatever that was to a person wasn’t something others would accuse of one’s head being in a gutter.

But the redeye had worn off of Shin a long time ago. And he could obviously tell something was off.

The pharmacist’s face expression wasn’t as reasonable as it was fifteen minutes ago, before they’d gone back to the back room for the tablets.

The tablets relieved Mars’ Sickness.

“Is it the insurance?” Shin asked in a mumble.

The pharmacist adjusted the spectacles on top of their nose. “No. _No_. It’s not. You just have another place you go to. I can tell.”

“My mother’s doctor changed pharmacies.”

The pharmacist rubbed their nose, slicked back their peppery hair. A sneer threatened to come from their lips, but must’ve decided against it when they saw the gleam of the smooth button adorning the breast pocket of the young man’s suit.

“ _Please_. There is another pharmacy a couple blocks north of here,” The pharmacist insisted. “I don’t want any trouble.”

Shin kind of squinted, and looked at the sawdusted wall behind the worker.

_10..._

“But I was told this is where the prescription would be ready.”

_9..._

“Yes, I can see that. But, please be on your way. Call the doctor when you’re away from (Was that a _shudder_?) here.”

_8..._

“I don’t understand...My mother needs—”

“I understand that. But, she won’t be getting what she needs here.”

_7, 6..,_

_The fuck?_

“ _Sir_ ,” Shin said with a bit of a swallow, avoiding his voice’s sound of despair. “My mother has Mar’s Sickness. You know what the fuck that is, right?”

_5..._

“Yes. I do. But—"

_4.._

“It consumes you. It becomes a part of yourself that you never wanted, but you have anyway. The last part of the self the sickness consumes is the cognitive area of the body. It starts in the lungs, and very slowly it starts to take over. A cough can turn into vomit, or much worse blood. Just hand over the tablets. It’s not that hard.”

_3—_

“I’m sorry, but I cannot ‘just hand them over’.” The old man closed his eyes briefly, before saying, “Please leave. Or I will call the ISSP.”

_2..._

Shin figured if counting really helped. If counting sheep, and singing lullabies actually did the trick, then maybe everyone would sleep forever. Maybe, he wouldn’t sometimes picture his brother lying in a puddle of blood...Or his dad, when he had _finally_ OD-ed on a speedball of dusties (Meteorite dust) and red. Seeing him there in the living room of their prefab, not breathing, or moving. His eyes open, but glassy, and not at all there. That being the only time 6 year-old Shin could remember when his dad did not hit him, or touch him there...and _there_.

“Shin, you know what your brother’s name means?” His mother had whispered to him. “It means _neutral_. But it also means _a fine gem_.”

He slipped the spoon between her lips. “Mom, eat.”

Once she was able to slurp up the liquid on the spoon, Shin dove the spoon back into the broth. _Clink!_ The spoon hit the bottom of the bowl, making a sound.

“No matter what,” his mother continued. “Always. Always make sure your brother is protected. D- don’t ever have him harmed.”

Shin held the spoon, ladling the broth, to his mother’s mouth again. She slurped up the broth with more confidence this time. “Your brother has a purpose here on Mars. Because he’s so handsome, and resembles your father. Oh, if only he were–"

_1._

Shin pulled out his gun so fast, that it appeared as though the gun simply _poofed!_ into his hand, like a magic trick.

His pointer finger held onto the trigger dangerously, and stared at the area between both of the old timer’s eyes. A couple of years ago, his hands would have been shaking. His aim would have been crooked as hell. But he was 24, and he wasn’t that scared 17-year-old anymore.

He could do it.

He could do it.

He could pull the trigger and end the man’s life shorter than when he entered into this _fucked_ world, crying and loud, in a woman’s arms who only promised him existence and nothing else.

The pharmacist’s eyes widened. His pupil’s were smaller, and his mouth quivered.

“Y- you can’t do that,” he nearly whispered. “C- can’t.”

Shin’s nostrils flared, chewing the corner of his lip.

“Watch me.”

As he bent his forefinger back to instigate death, an alarm sounded, and everything was encased in the light of a photographer’s room that developed old photographs; everything was now seemingly within a red filtered camera lenses.

Shin could still very well see. But he’d be lying if he said he was able to think clearly.

Then he heard screaming, and it didn’t stop.

Ducking down, he scanned his surroundings. He was now in a crouch, eyes on the look out for the wrinkly man in the long white jacket. The store’s insignia emblazoned on the breast pocket, and printed across the back in red lettering.

_“No wonder people always forget that we’re related.”_

Shin ducked behind a shelf of B-Vitamins.

“Fuck,” He whispered to himself. “Mao said everything had been inconspicuous.”

Two men had walked in, their eyes looked to be surveying the area.

“That was stupid!” One half of the duo shouted as he looked about. “Where in the hell—"

Shin raised an eyebrow as the man’s eyes widened.

“Who the fuck is she?

Shin was brought back to the reality that left him about 10 seconds ago.

“That’s his sister!”

The blind girl sat on the floor, with her knees pulled up to her chest. She rocked back and fourth, shaking her head, and mumbling nonsense. The basket of groceries she’d been carrying were on the floor, crowding her surroundings.

The two men stepped closer to the girl. “Sweet cakes, it’s okay,” one part of the duo said in a soft tone. “We’re your brother’s friends.”

The blind girl still didn’t say anything. She stopped rocking, and looked up.

“Didn’t he say she was fuckin’ blind?” 

“Can’t you stop being a fuckin’ idiot, and grab ‘er!” The smarter looking one of the duo yelled. “I’m gonna hack into the register!”

Shin bit his lip, and closed his eyes briefly. Only very briefly.

The pharmacist trembled violently, hardly saying anything as Thing 1 and Thing 2 invaded the store. It was now more apparent than ever that the only ones in the store were the ones involved in this scene.

Shin opened his eyes, and he pulled the trigger.

☙

Wiping his elbow using the cotton ball, he chewed on his bottom lip. With a bit of care and tolerance he was able to do from many years of practice, he doctored the nasty injury he sustained from the shootout.

The bottle of green rubbing alcohol was moved aside, and he pushed the stainless steel bowl forward and splashed some of the water in it onto his face.

“Shin, you _piece_ of shit!” He whisper-yelled to himself. “Why do you do such stupid _shit_?!”

He ran his fingers through his hair, and paced back and forth on the bathroom’s floor tiles.

After he’d pulled the trigger, Shin would say it all drew a blank from there. Unlike Spike Spiegel who heard music when he was in action, for Shin it was like an ellipsis in mono.

When it apparently came to “losing your shit”, Shin could never recall what transpired in each episode. But he’d heard from time to time from his fellow Red Dragon brothers that he was unrecognizable. The Shin without a gun was to himself, and hardly spoke unless needed. The Shin without a gun was overshadowed by the “superior sibling” of his, Lin. The Shin without a gun was forgettable.

But the Shin in action— _bullets ahoy!_ —was a completely different individual.

Yet, Shin had never seen that version of himself a day in his life.

After leaning his body against the vanity, reflective but restless. He walked over to the bathtub, and triggered the shower head to shoot out water by turning a knob below the tub’s faucet. He then grabbed one of his mother’s pastel colored towels along with its matching wash cloth, and walked out of the bathroom.


	11. when in lonely and isolated egomania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say the way two kindred spirits communicate, is truly how their relationship is defined. Maybe both twenty-somethings realize that. Especially when it comes to misdirected affection and detachment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Spike and Faye in this chapter! Shin will have his own chapters every once in a while, and if you all don't mind, or even encourage it, I can include even more of his chapters in between shorter intervals. Eventually Shin and the Green-Purple couple will cross paths. Perhaps, when you're not even looking.
> 
> \- Tonto

_Faye reached out as far as she could, her mind focused on that retreating figure. But he never realized her distress, and didn’t let her catch him._

_She cried as gunshots rang._

☙

Faye opened her eyes, and she found herself staring into mix ‘n’ match colored ones; one eye slightly browner than the other. Again, they represented the truth, but she turned to her side, breaking eye contact with him.

Why the fuck could he not leave her alone?

She didn’t need him, and his requiem-filled aura.

So, she spoke. “I had second thoughts...Went out...Made some money...And I left your ass.”

She didn’t see the look on his face, and she really didn’t care to. He just needed to leave.

And she thought he’d eventually do that. But he started speaking after awhile, much to her surprise. “I feel like I know you– from somewhere. Maybe in another universe.”

Faye’s heart skipped a beat, because he was voicing the feeling she felt every time she’d look into his eyes, or engaged in one of their intense fights. Somewhere in the crevices of her mind she’d think of a moment between she and him that seemingly never happened.

But what if it did?

She sat up in the bed, turning in his direction, to find that he was staring at her. He’d done that a lot, staring at her for no reason.

“Same here,” she whispered, trying to avoid his stare. “But who believes in parallel universes?”

“You’re not from here, are you?”

Faye feigned absolute boredom opposite of the commotion that the question caused inside of her. Either way, if he was right. It wasn’t his damn business.

He’d use it against her.

Faye ran her fingers through her hair, getting up from the bed, telling herself he wasn’t staring at her like that. ‘Cause it wasn’t like that.

She didn’t need that. She only needed herself.

Letting out a shaky breath, she grabbed the pack Reds off the nightstand and lit one.

☙

When she was back at Spike’s place, her blood began to boil. He was using her for some ulterior motive. That’s why he spared her ass in the first place.

So, questions started coming out of her mouth. From “Why the hell do you want me to stay so bad?!” to “Where do you go at night, when you let me sleep in your bed?!”

In the midst of that onslaught of questions she started throwing things. From oranges to soup cans (that Spike dodged effortlessly), heck, at one point, without much thought she pointed her Glock at him. “You just want to pimp me out, huh?! You think I’m a vulnerable piece o’ shit, that will do anything for money!” She started cackling, swinging the gun haphazardly, without care. “After grooming me, you’re going to take me to those piece o’ shits you work for, aren’t you?! You’re going to let them turn me into some kind of whore...”

As she ranted with her jumping gun, Spike stood there, giving off the air of being in full control of himself. She was wrong about all the shit she was spewing. He could even try telling her that—

“I’m not from here,” She admitted, “I’m from the earlier twenty first century, when Earth was the only planet us human beings were capable of living on. B- but I don’t know how I ended up in this decade, waking up from cryo.”

Spike made a move forward...but she pointed the gun at him. “Don’t move asshole. I’m not going down without a fight. We try with or without weapons. Your pick.”

Instead of reassuring her that he wasn’t going to make her into a syndicate prostitute, he smiled.

It’d been awhile since he smiled. The kind of smile that reaches one’s eyes, and shows that that person is genuinely happy at the second.

He didn’t even smile like that when he was with Julia. It was always super tense due to the unwavering guilt that hung in the air between them, because of Vicious.

If Spike had been paying much attention to the subconscious thoughts that ran through his mind, he could see himself with a certain woman. Only if he just let her catch him...

Faye shot a bullet through the ceiling. “I’m serious Gadjo.”

“I know Romani, I know.”

☙

They ended up falling asleep in the bed together. It just happened, because a drinking contest was played between the two. Faye still had been pointing the gun at him when Spike presented a pack of beer that was rumored to rival a good old fashioned whisky.

Eventually Faye put her gun away, and they drank an excess of shots trying to outdo one another.

Sometimes, after they’d both take a big gulp of their alcohol, and slamming the glass down, their eyes would meet, and they’d just stare at each other. No thoughts behind their gazes. It was as natural as blinking.

“Spike, when you think of that parallel universe,” she began. She then stopped for a second with a hiccup, his gaze unwavering. “In that parallel universe you know me in, am I still the same person?”

When she started saying what she was saying, Spike had wanted to interrupt her—no, correct her. He wanted to correct her, and tell her that he saw her in all the universes he lived in. ‘Cause he always met a fish out of water, with those eyes.

“Yes.”

He said this with no question behind it.

“Is my name still Faye Valentine?”

“Yes.”

“Am I friendly?”

Then Spike started to laugh. The kind that sound like they start in the belly, and end in your throat. He slammed his fist against the table repeatedly, thinking of a woman who could get a rise out of him. For as laid back as he thought he was, she brought out certain sides of him he thought were lost forever.

Faye raised an eyebrow at his sudden spurt of giggles. She grabbed her gun that hung loosely between the waistband of her shorts and her bony hip. This time the gun was aimed to the inside of the gadjo’s mouth.

Then she pulled the trigger.

What occurred next was something like this,

Spike, a veteran of shoot outs, jolted up so quickly in his chair, then headed for cover behind the fridge door he had open, before taking out his Jericho, and shooting a bullet at the target.

He learned after a beat that the target was Faye who looked hella pissed and drunk.

“What the hell?!” He yelled. “What was that for, Faye?!”

She shot at him again. “For laughing at me, you no good son—”

In a matter of seconds he was on the side of the room she was in, and he was taking the gun out of her hand, before chunking it hard behind him.

“I wasn’t laughing at you!” He screamed in her face.

This time she was laughing.

“You should’ve seen your face!” She said between laughs, holding her stomach. “Ah, fuck! I can’t believe you could look like that— your eyes were wide—and...”

She didn’t say more. Letting the laughs consume her train of thought.

Spike felt himself relax when he decided, she had a cute laugh.

They drank some more after that, then passed out on his bed in giggles.


	12. it happened one night pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye realizes that despite what she would like to believe, getting a glimpse into Spike's world is an opportunity she can't miss out on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for the kudos. I hope everyone had fun during the holidays. I wish everyone a good new year (even if it has already begun).
> 
> Also, as of late, I've been a silent reader. But I hope to give encouraging and lighthearted feedback to those who have contributed fanfic to the Cowboy Bebop fandom (most importantly Spike x Faye). Also, I need to give kudos to more of the lovely fanfictions that have been published in the CB fandom. 
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> \- tonto

_“It’s you.”_

_Yes..._

_“Spike?”_

_Yes, it’s me Faye!_

_“Spike?!”_

_Faye, I’m here. Yes._

☙

Spike appeared to be listening to his superior’s speech. His shoulders were straight, and he was staring at that invisible dot on Mao’s forehead. But truth be told, Spike was thinking about life. Or a certain someone who in fact, as of now, occupied his apartment and...mind.

He knew she wasn’t cleaning up, or doing anything productive....she was too brash and on edge for that kinda thing. If all, she probably still thought he was trying to pimp her out. And perhaps it was best for her to continue thinking that because—

He felt a nudge in his side, and he frowned at Shin who sat to the left of him. He then focused his attention on Mao, who eyed him peculiarly. Like, the elder knew he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Spike, are you up for the job?”

Spike thought in response to Mao’s question, _What job?_ Yet, he was pretty sure it had something to do with the White Tigers.

“Yes,” Spike answered as casually as he did normally. “The job will be done.”

Mao smiled. “It’s been decided, Spike will gang stalk, as you all figure out ways to expand the Red Dragons’ supply. This meeting is adjourned.”

Once Mao left the room, everyone else started to leave the room as well. But Vicious lingered.

Shin was almost out the door, but he stopped. He looked between the two friends, and wondered if shit had already hit the proverbial fan. But it wasn’t that. He was positive. Because Vicious was more of an element of surprise type of individual when it came to reveals and confrontations.

Maybe, Vicious caught wind of Spike’s off behavior, and wanted to inquire to him about it like a friend would.

Shin continued walking, rather than have his two colleagues noticing him eavesdropping and such.

☙

Hearing the door clock shut, indicating the last person leaving the room. Spike turned around, and he smiled calmly at his friend.

Vicious and him hadn’t spoken one-on-one in awhile. And for some reason, there wasn’t this atmosphere in the air that indicated that something quite obvious was going on, or that Spike had been committing the absolute betrayal.

Things, for a minute, almost seemed like they once were. Yet, Vicious’ smile wasn’t quite the same as it once was.

“Spike, are you thinking of leaving?” His friend asked. Nothing was accusatory in his tone. Nor did Vicious show much emotion on his face...

Spike laughed. “No. You?”

Vicious shrugged, twiddling his fingers against the part in his chest where his heart was. “No. Of course not.”

Spike and Vicious stood there in silence, having both their hands in their coat pockets.

“You didn’t hear a word of what Mao was explaining, did you?” Vicious asked. If one listened very closely, Vicious sounded almost amused. “You were off in dreamland like you always are.”

Spike almost made a noise of surprise. It would have either sounded like a snicker, or a cough if it’d successfully escaped from his mouth. Either way, Spike had thought that Vicious had forgotten about their escapades when they were younger.

Vicious and him would talk about the future.

“White Tigers, eh?” Spike replied with cooly, itching to light one. “I just need to kill—"

Vicious shook his head slowly. “No. It’s everything far from that.”

Spike nodded. “Okay. So, we’re going for Operation _Gen Shui_ then?”

“No. But you’re getting warmer.”

Spike didn’t say anything after. The thing was, he didn’t know what to say.

Vicious eyed him as though he knew a secret Spike wasn’t telling. But Spike shook that feeling off, and smirked at his friend.

“Then is it the deal taking place at Lizard?” Spike asked quietly.

Vicious clapped his hands, confirming that he was correct.

“B- but, I thought Mao didn’t believe—"

Vicious shrugged. “Fuck Mao. He even knows that this is the only way White Tiger will loosen their grip.”

Spike nodded, wordlessly.

☙

Faye watched him get ready. She hardly said anything, eying him curiously; failing to voice what was on her mind. Instead, she threw on another big t-shirt she found in his bedroom drawer.

She suddenly felt cold.

Sitting on the bed, Spike reloaded and unloaded his gun. Regardless, the feeling didn’t shake. The shadows were where he and his comrades often lurked, why go for a location that was as exclusive as public? He blinked and put the bullets back into his Jericho once more.

“Have you been to the nightclub, Lizard, before?”

He was talking to her.

Faye looked up, and their eyes met. She, of course, looked away first.

“Um, yeah.” _Cough._ “It’s right on the strip, the center of where you usually turn into the traffic on Ganymede Avenue, right towards Laika Boulevard.”

He pocketed his Jericho. “When you go there, is it usually to dance?”

This caused the gypsy to smile, almost guiltily. What did he want her to say? _No, I do much more than that. I cheat men out of their money and make them think I’m actually interested in them_.

Yet, she knew she didn’t have to say any of that.

He walked past her without a second glance, and he threw on a black trench coat. For a sec, he almost considered muttering the words, “Don’t wait up. I might not be coming back from this one.”

But Spike Spiegel didn’t say anything.

☙

Faye was never one to follow orders, unless it benefited her really well. So, that’s why she walked into club Lizard, “barefoot and homely”. Spike’s milky way man tee hung from her frame loosely, and only tight black leggings covered her svelte legs.

She needed a drink.

As she made her way past the bouncer, she bumped into a young woman she swore she saw that one time, when walking in the streets. She was blonde, beautiful, and again, Faye was insignificant once more.

However, Faye paid her no mind after they both sized each other up.

Faye Valentine didn’t need a man at her hip. She just needed a damn shot of something. What was the name of that one liquor brand Whitney would always go on about? It looked holographic in density, but made the tightest son of a bitch in the ass as loose as a strung out rubber-band.

Chuckling out loud, she opted for a can of Rolling Rock. It was “earthly” and familiar.

As she took a swig of the beer, that’s when she saw him. He was still in that tired-ass trench coat of his, and still had that air of nonchalance going on. But considering how long she’d been staying in his apartment, she learned a thing or two. He wasn’t as nonchalant as he appeared, and she knew just the way to piss him off.

So, she set her drink down (never to pick it up again), and walked over to him. She went unnoticed of course, she didn’t want to make herself known just yet. Sure, she could make herself blend in, and he would fail to notice her, but then there was always the _“I know you shrew!”_ look in his eyes. He’d inevitably recognize her.

But this was the closest she was ever going to see of his world. The world he went to when he would leave his apartment in the morning, seemingly okay with the fact that he was letting a stranger dilly-dally in it and invade his space. The world she could never be a part of because she didn’t necessarily know what it was, and when she was still trying to figure out one on her own.

Did it even exist?

“Hey, pretty little _thang_ ,” a guy said, approaching her with confidence. “What’s a gal like you doing here all by your lonesome?”

Faye rolled her eyes.

This was ridiculous. She didn’t need this.

She didn’t need to know the Spike who walked out of the door to the apartment each waking moment. She didn’t need to find the normalcy she was curious of. She didn’t need this 20th century-looking cowboy fella trying to get her in bed.

Without a word or glance she walked away from the spaghetti westerner, and made her way back to where the bartender was.


	13. it happened one night pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike Spiegel was a chill guy. So he didn't do it for _her_. Seriously.
> 
> He had a job to do that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Also, thank you for your lovely comments last chapter **Octoblink** and **maruuzen**. You guys rock!

_“I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.”_

_“What?”_

_“You taught me that love doesn’t have to look good on paper to feel good.”_

_“Y- You loved me?”_

_“Yeah. A long time ago though.”_

**_– From another universe, with both hearts._ **

☙

Standing in the shadow in the far north side of the club, Spike raised an eyebrow, trying to appear focused and alert.

Really, he was.

But he could cut the atmosphere with a very sharp knife. And _that_ , he could _try_ to do too.

He stole a glance at Julia, before focusing on the operatives who’d just walked in.

The operatives were quiet, and they still didn’t wear suits. They came in with the casual beatnik clothing they always wore, sporting the looks they always had on their faces.

Was it bordering between war, or just a _very_ cold one?

Spike didn’t know the answer, but letting his fingers run over the Jericho in its holster. He knew he’d find out soon.

Modern remixes of old jazz standards from Earth played from the speakers, and contributed greatly to the club’s overall mood, atmosphere, and flare. Some of the visitors of Lizard sat at the bar, drinking and resting their elbows or foreheads on top of the wooden counter-top. Then there were others who decided to take advantage of the drug-scene that Lizard brought.

Two individuals, who didn’t even look to be out of their first run in cram-school, stood casually near the back door. From the way they had their hands in their pockets, and to the way they sniffed.

And their eyes roamed all over the room like a bird perched on a tree branch, ready to “caw” at any sign of the ISSP, or a regular customer.

Spike subtly looked over at his friend, who eyed the two rookie “dough boys” with a hint of curiosity and a much more obvious mischievousness than he normally showcased.

_C’mon_ , Spike thought. _They’re just selling dusties._

“Dusties” was a short-hand way of referring to meteorite dust, or extra-terrestrial dust. Or even more short handed, “E.T.”

It wasn’t as harsh as red eye nor did it involve shooting something inside of you, and puncturing veins. But it’s side effects when quitting cold turkey were just as harsh.

He remembered a low-level in the syndicate babbling on to him about how on Earth, there was a substance called Cocaine that Dusties would have rivaled.

As the music changed, and the club filled, Spike naturally moved closer to Vicious as more time passed. From the more recent decade’s hits, to the more trendy but retro tunes, the dance-floor was the hottest spot in the room. The bar and lounge came at an extremely close second.

After about an hour and a half, some of the operatives were already drunk.

_The hell?_ Spike creased an eyebrow.

Yes, no syndicates were ever the same in how they trained their soldiers and charges. Nor were they the same in how they supplied weapons, drugs, and money-makers.

But when a majority of the operatives on site were piss drunk, it wasn’t...

Normal.

Spike’s eyes then wandered over to Julia again. She sat at one of the tables, sipping on a light glass of liquor. She moved some of her bangs from her eyes, and it appeared she was looking out at the dance floor of those who lived different lives from theirs.

She, Spike, and Vicious were always in the shadows it seemed. Never under the lights, where life had a different meaning, and people just were. There was a better knowledge, a better _inkling_ , of what was right and wrong.

If anyone on that dance floor had drug problems, a broken heart, depression, darkness, innocence, or whatever was very real, it was more of a reality than anything she’d ever known, maybe.

She then closed her eyes, and Spike wondered what she was thinking of at that moment.

Was she thinking of what he asked her awhile ago?

☙

_“We can get outta this, ya know?”_

_He put his arm on her back, making circles on it using his other hand._

_She shifted a bit, the bed sheets moving a little. They were now a little more crinkled than they already were. This time it wasn’t because of their earlier activities, but the tenant’s failure to tidy and go through with the daily routine of doing chores._

_Spike held his breath, looking up at the ceiling. The whirring of the ceiling fan filled the silence that’d settled in seconds ago._

_Knowing her, he didn’t expect an immediate answer. Nor was he expecting a confident one either._

_But he knew he’d be getting an answer._

_While thinking that whatever it was she thought, she’d have the absolute power to break him at a moments notice. It be from the way she outright refused and denied his suggestion. Or the way she’d force herself to accept the proposal, and grasp his calloused hand, desperately._

_He’d have a single rose in his hand, and the other hand would be in his pocket. And she’d be concealing her old vinyl glossy black catsuit with the aesthetic of her duster, its belt hugged her waist perfectly. Her right hand, gloved, would find its way onto his bicep._

_She and him would run until they no longer could smell the familiar Tharsis pollution. The air so heavy, it could rival Earth China’s aught years when they were overpopulated._

_But a response never came from Julia._

☙

“Crazy _bitch_!”

Spike’s and everyone else’s eyes in the room snapped to, and a man dressed in wrangler attire was breathing heavily, and stepping back. Wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve. He then threw his empty glass of liquor against the wall, barely missing the bartender who cowered to the floor.

As glass shattered, he charged at the “bitch” who was apparently crazy.

Spike hardly blinked, before turning his attention back to Julia.

Her attention was on the scene, but just like him, she wasn’t wearing much of a face expression.

There was more glass, and gasps from those watching.

Then the wrangler was suddenly taking blows, and the person giving the most suddenly came more into the light.

She sported a lopsided pixie- _ish_ bob cut, and she was in nothing but a big t-shirt and tight leggings. Yet, he couldn’t make out her face nor the color of her hair due to the lack of lighting in the area.

“ _Ass_ hole!” She yelled, failing to notice her bloody knuckle.

Spike slowly processed her appearance and facial features, but then the man was up again.

Not necessary to note, but music still blared from the speakers as the man threw his fist forward, and the woman ducked and brought her shin forward.

The wrangler attempted a head-butt, and it turned out lopsided. As he barely brought his arms around her hips, they were both on the ground.

An old stool from the bar toppled over, as the woman got out of the man’s near-chokehold. Blood dripped from her nose, and she smiled widely with red-stained teeth. “ _Bastard_!” She spat the word out, before the thoughts to take it back vanished. Because when you mean what you say, there shouldn’t be time for regret, or vulnerability.

Spike glanced back to Julia, who now had a faint expression of anger, and maybe even a little concern as she watched the fight ensue.

Her fingers tensed around the glass of brandy.

Vicious laughed sardonically, nudging his friend in the side. “Look, those bastards.”

That’s when Spike saw one of the operatives come up from behind, and hook his arm around the woman’s neck. It was a sloppy hold, but it was pretty tight when seeing the size and frame of the woman.

He had picked her up like a rag doll, ready to use her.

But the woman didn’t turn into one.

With a buck, and a kick of her foot she was out of the man’s grasp. Staggering in step a little, she appeared to be noting all who surrounded her. Men in matching costumes but with different faces sized her up; waiting to scoop her up like a bear hunting in a stream for fish.

Breathing heavy, and regaining a bit of self, she let out a wild scream.

The scream wasn’t of words. But it was _inner_ , and real.

Club goers could only stare in bemusement and horror, and the bartender pressed the button on his barely concealed phone. Cursing the owner—his employer—for not bothering to foresee situations such as the one being presented at that moment. A heap of tips that he’d accumulated each night of the week seemed so insignificant now when compared to actual life.

If only he could get Mars’ ISSP on the phone for cleanup.

Some of the syndicate operatives salivated with the desire to do as they pleased, not knowing yet how it felt to truly break a woman down. Their eyes wandered here and there, as their compadres tightened their fist, and a couple of them broke off the stems of their tall and flashy drinking glasses. Maybe they’d ask Mr.Bartender with the phone for a free refill, even if happy hour was over.

Spike looked at the woman, having gotten better lighting when the electric mirror ball lit up into a lighter color. As its light beams in sea foam gravitated over the woman’s fine but somewhat soft facial features, he pulled out his Jericho.

And shot.

A stampede formed, shrieks and yells surfaced, and he was somewhere else.

Green eyes became a distant yet familiar thing, when he found himself face-to-face with Cub No.1 (Real name: **Unknown** ). Even as they flashed their button with a striped insignia, Spike barely batted an eye.

The butt of his Jericho did the talking.

Vicious and him were back-to-back once more, this time waltzing along to some space jazz sonata. Barely, he even allowed a woman to evade the nozzle of his Jericho before bringing it down onto the leader cub’s head.

“You’ll fuckin’ regret this!” Cub yelled, holding his broken nose. “Th- the man we fuckin–"

In no time a katana stuck out of him, and Spike heard Vicious breathe out. “— _Work_ for is Lain Gossen.” His friend then motioned over to a body on the ground, with blood seeping out of its head. “Someone was willing to snitch.”

Spike chuckled darkly, the woman’s bloody grin flashing in his mind. He picked up one of the liquor glasses from the bar and threw it at the fake westerner, who was nursing his busted nose, and eying the Red Dragon members with pure hatred.

As the glass shattered, the bulldogger writhed and groaned on the floor.

Maybe, it was all part of needing to do the job. Or the fact that he saw _her_ here at Lizard tonight.

_Damn her_.

She did it on purpose. Trying to annoy the living shit out of him, acting as though she was the only one the world revolved around. She wasn’t even here. She’d disappeared in the midst of it all when he fired his machine, probably doing what she did best.

Spike chuckled without amusement, ignoring his own throbbing hand, and the tender welt on his face.

Scratching his nose, smelling copper and sweat, he looked over at Vicious.

This time, Julia stood next to his friend. They whispered the words they were exchanging, looking like a couple you’d see on the front page of Mars’ BAZAAR fashion magazine. There, for a small moment, being no betrayal, red eye, nor numbness between one another. She eyed the silver-blonde man with with such adoration that Spike himself was a stranger to.

Vicious took her hand, kissing the knuckles. He smiled for a split second.

She laughed, softly.

Spike took it upon himself to swing his own self over the countertop, and grab an untouched bottle of Jackie Danielson next to the mixers. Opening its top, he saw that the couple had disappeared.

_Bang._


End file.
